#15. Thirty Thriving? Not really.

Life at 35 is not what I thought it would be. But I am learning to be OK with that.

Milestone birthdays are supposed to be a big deal. 35 in particular is peddled as a very big deal: it’s the age by which you are expected to have your act together. Traditions will have you married with kids, living blissfully in a house that you co-own with your partner, amassing a juicy pension nest. By 35, you are meant to be sorted.

So what happens when you don’t feel that way? *pauses for dramatic effect*. When you come up short against societal expectations - and your own?

Mid thirties has not been how I imagined it to be. 2024 turned out to be one of the most stagnant, damaging, disruptive, melancholic years of my life. It is no exaggeration when I say that simply existing inside my own body and mind felt impossibly hard some days. And while I have crawled past my lowest, darkest point, Alhamdulillah, I am still very much in the throes of healing and recovering.

I wanted 35 to be amazing. Not an early onset of midlife crisis.

But I am learning to be OK with that.

In this day and age, it is easy to pretend. Post glossy, curated photos of your life and you can almost convince people it is ‘lit’. I, however, seem to have faltered in that department as well. Keeping up with appearances was not on my 2024 priority list, not even subconsciously. Case in point: my 35th birthday, which flew so low below the social media radar that it can only be classed as a ‘non-event’. As they say, pics - or it didn’t happen. What kind of a dodgy ‘influencer’ am I if I didn’t turn 35 at an IG-famous tourist spot, with a cake/caption proudly declaring that I am ‘Thirty Thriving!’?

Instagram may be shocked to know this, but my birthday did happen. A bizarre turn of events had me spending it in my hometown (Dhaka, Bangladesh), surrounded by my whole family. Including my eldest sister from down under whom I got to meet after nearly a decade. It was 100% by chance and 0% planned. Which is nothing short of a miracle in my books.

As luck would have it, I was so ill on my birthday that I could hardly peel myself off the bed. My husband showed up at midnight with a fancy cake and bouquet (we were staying in our respective family homes), exhibiting early signs of whatever it was that I was suffering from and had likely passed on to him. I remained horizontal for the rest of the day, just about mustering enough energy to go out in the evening with my sisters and brother-in-laws. We dined at La Bamba, my favourite local kebab place. I stuffed my face with food that I cannot access here in London, at least not the La Bamba way (read: the best way). Shikh kabab. Chicken tikka. Brain masala. Washed down with copious amounts of lassi. My kids helped me cut an old-school cake, my sisters took pictures of me in my skewed hijab (I had just started wearing it). We laughed and joked and laughed some more. That no-frills birthday dinner may have lacked grandeur, but it fed my soul way more than it fed my tummy. It was everything that I had missed out on for years and years. A slice of life from the past where my sisters were the main characters of my story.

One of the best things about ageing is the renewed appreciation for your blessings (my sisters top that list). You realise that life is never going to be exactly as you thought it would be. And yet there is so much that you already have, so much to be grateful for. You have gone through a lot and made it out of the other end. Not once, but multiple times. You are still alive. Still grateful. Perhaps a lot more cynical, sure. But hopefully a lot more wiser too.

Gifts of experience aside, mid thirties can be a strange place to be. In this no-man’s land you are neither old (Gen Alpha might disagree) nor young (Gen Z will most certainly agree). The tell-tale signs of ageing, that future phenomenon that you knew was surely coming but never truly factored in, have set in for good. The slowing metabolism, the broken back, the erratic menstrual cycle - all of it points to a steady decline in the youthfulness that you had once taken for granted. Changes in physical appearance are no longer subtle. Hairlines are receding, there are wrinkles spreading across your forehead like magnetic streaks, and shifting any sort of weight is harder than you remember it to be. So is keeping on top of social media trends. In an era when things are viral for a hot second before briskly expiring, feeling increasingly ‘out of loop’ is becoming the millennial norm. Our coping mechanism? 49 Hilarious Memes That Will Make You Laugh Only If You Grew Up In The 90’s.

I have no qualms in admitting that I never truly got with TikTok. Most Zeitgeist-y terms go over my head (does Skibidi Toilet have an actual meaning? Asking for a friend). I howl with laughter at oldies making tongue in cheek reels in Gen Z speak and vice versa. I refuse to post shaky, 0.5x selfies taken from above my forehead. My ankle socks compete with my fine lines to give me away and while I would love to jump on the crew socks trend, I feel nervous about being accused of ‘trying too hard’. Honestly though? It is almost a gift to be able to relinquish the reins of cultural fads to the youngsters. 35 demands an efficiency from me that involves a lot of ‘touching grass’ to stay grounded. Something that may have to do with the fact that I am the primary caregiver to two little boys. I gave birth at 29, then at 32. Practically all of my thirties have been about parenting. I have had to do it with extremely limited childcare and virtually no outside help so at this point motherhood is 95% of my personality.

As of 2024, millennials are between 28 and 43 years old. Some of us are emerging from the trenches of raising young kids or just starting the descent into that life-changing journey. Others are childfree by choice or yearning to grow their families. No matter what reality we find ourselves in, children are a hot topic for our age group, impacting us all in some way or the other. Even for those who absolutely do not want to procreate, there is a lot of pressure to reveal why not. Others find themselves dithering or opting out of the process altogether for reasons that are entirely out of their control. In the UK, fertility rate has been falling faster than any other G7 country. High cost of childcare, and the double whammy of a housing and cost of living crisis make parenthood seem like an increasingly unattainable pipe dream.

Alas, it is neither avocados on toast nor flat whites with oat milk that brought us here. Economic and political uncertainty resulting from ‘unprecedented’ world events - from the Great Recession (2008) to a Global Pandemic (2020) - has forced us to delay not just parenthood, but many other milestones too. I know I am not alone in my feelings of not having truly ‘made it’ by an age we once collectively deemed as ‘old’ (ouch).

But here’s the thing. ‘Making it’ may not be the utopia we consider it to be. The long-term effects of big life events that we put so much stock by is often overestimated. Rather it is the small-scale daily habits - like nurturing meaningful relationships, taking care of our physical health, and making room for activities that give us a sense of purpose beyond our ‘achievements’ - that matter more in the long run. In the race of life, we assume that we will reach the finish line in the same state in which we started. It is frighteningly easy to lose sight of the present or worse, neglect it in pursuit of a future that is not even guaranteed. You should not have to wait for x,y,z to happen to live and love your life. Reminder to myself first and foremost.

35 may not have made any big waves, but it has allowed me to be more self-aware. Because the silver lining of a stagnant year is the inevitable self-evaluation that it triggers. Who am I? What is my purpose? What do I want from life? I am no longer obsessing over what I want to be as much as how I want to feel. I want to feel more ease. I want to feel more joy. The quiet, unassuming kind that settles in my heart when I read, write, or create.

Ageing is a privilege. To know thyself at different decades is to meet different versions of yourself, each iteration taking you closer to your truth. It took thirty years of living for me to realise that I am neurodiverse. What a revelation that has been. I am not going to put a name to my neurospicyness (I love that term) but I have self-concluded that my brain works in unconventional ways. Accepting that truth has lead me to view past events through a more forgiving lens.

As a child, I absolutely hated scratchy fabrics on my skin for no apparent reason, rejecting poofy dresses that most girls would swoon over. As a teen, I would avidly study Biology (my favourite subject) the night before a Physics test (I detested it), foolishly determined to procrastinate. As a working adult, I found myself in awkward positions at construction sites, prompting a colleague to enquire ‘why I always managed to find the most difficult way to do something’. As a mother, I grapple with overwhelm at arcades and amusement parks where the flashing lights feel like an assault on my brain. Why am I like this??? I have asked myself different variations of that question all my life.

I used to think that my ability to hyperfocus and get loads and loads done in a short amount of time was normal (it is not). And to have that interspersed with days when even the basic act feels like a mountain to climb was a universal thing (nah-uh). Feeling a lack of enthusiasm for high priority tasks that I do not enjoy, then getting it all done in minutes just before the deadline is a frustrating (but arguably efficient) life skill. It can be exhausting to live so erratically (some call it peak multitasking, LOL) but it is just how I am wired. I would never have understood this had I not reached the ripe age of 35. It helps me immensely to manage my own expectations and resist the useless act of comparison, something that peaks at this time of the year when everyone starts posting their yearly highlights.

I have managed to win at some things in 2024. I started wearing the hijab in March and took up running in May. And despite both being abrupt life changes, I am still going strong, Alhamdulillah. On days when I struggle, and trust me there are plenty of those, I focus on how far I have come. How much I have grown. It’s the kind of growth that truly matters, growth that paves the way towards the kind of future I envision for myself. One in which I am spiritually and bodily stronger and healthier In Sha Allah.

I read somewhere that the cells in our body are replaced every seven years. I certainly feel like a completely different person at 35 than I did at 28. And largely, its been for the better. I miss the carefree days of my youth, and the excitement of my 20s, but I love knowing myself more intimately in my 30s. I am ending 2024 with little to show for in terms of adventures and accomplishments. But for now I am allowing myself to heal, and to settle into my new, 35-year old mould. Nothing lasts forever. Not the good. Nor the bad. C'est la vie.